The people you leave behind
by little miss dracula
Summary: No one noticed our relationship. But I knew, and he knew, and George knew, and we didn't much care for anyone else. An angsty little one shot about the girl Fred left behind.


**A little angsty one shot that came to me after a death in my family, when I was contemplating how much harder it is one those who get left behind.**

**Fred/OC**

**Read and review, no flames please :) Concrit is, as always, welcome.**

**L_M_D**

When I first met him, he was a smart arsed second year and I was a terrified first year. I had just shakily sat down at the Gryffindor table, petrified. I'm muggle born, you see, and to me Hogwarts was both exciting and overwhelming. He was sat opposite me, his twin, George, sat next to him, a mirror image. And they smiled at me. Well, I say they. I'm assuming George smiled, but I only noticed Fred.

In my second year, I thought I'd got over my silly little crush. I earned a reputation as a trouble maker, almost as good as theirs. They came to respect me, and I them. We were on nodding terms, acknowledging the others status as a fellow prankster. But then, at the end of the year, I went to congratulate him and George on a particularly spectacular prank, and I caught his eye and I fell for him, then and there.

In my third year, we finally kissed. It was late, gone midnight, so it was early I guess. I was sat in the common room, absentmindedly ripping up parchment and throwing it into the fire. I'd thought I was alone, everyone else seemed to have left hours ago. But then I heard a rustling in the corner, which at first frightened the life out of me, until Fred unfolded him gangly frame and moved to sit next to me. Silently, I leaned against him and after a few stomach fluttering moments, he pressed his lips against mine.

By fourth we were quietly dating. I was lending my charms skills to their Wizarding Wheezes, although they would have coped fine without me. I doubt anyone noticed our relationship, what with that Sirius Black supposedly after Harry Potter, who was a year below me. But we knew, and George knew, and we didn't care much for anyone else. We had our first argument towards the end of that year. A silly thing, really. Stupid in fact. But it killed me. Sitting in the common room on my own instead of with him. It only lasted a couple of days, but it might as well have been a year. We made up quietly, a kiss by the fire, whispered "I'm sorry."

By the time sixth year rolled around, Fred and I had broken up. He'd been found with another girl towards the beginning of the year and had admitted that it'd been going on since fifth. That year was also the year of Umbridge and the year Fred and George left, on broomsticks, to a roar of approval from the crowds below. And from me. I went to say goodbye, but I don't think he noticed my tears. I was still in love with him, and watching him leave for good tore me in two.

My seventh year was the year everyone accepted what most of us had known for a while. You - know - who was back. I often, in that year, found myself wondering about the twins who had left such an impression on me. I wondered about Fred. I dated a couple of guys, but none of them touched me, literally or figuratively, like Fred had done.

When I left school, I took my family and went into hiding. As a muggle born it was the only sensible thing to do. But when the Battle of Hogwarts came I knew I'd have to go and fight. I apparated back and joined in the defence. Whilst waiting for Voldemort's Deatheater's to attack, I saw him again.

"Fred!" I called him over. He smiled and came to me. I buried myself in his arms.

"I love you. God I love you. When this is over I'm gonna take you to Diagon Alley, buy you the biggest diamond I can afford and I'm gonna marry you. I'm never letting you go again." I'd never seen him so serious, and it worried me.

"I love you. I love you so much Fred."

I kissed him hard on the lips, felt his arms slip into their place around my waist.

We broke away soon after.

It was only when the battle was over that bruised and bloodied and hopeful I ran up to him in the Great Hall, hugging him from behind. He turned around slowly and said my name. And then I looked at him. Not Fred. George. And then I looked down at the stretcher on the floor beside him. Then I found I couldn't breathe.

His face still etched with him final smile. The lips that had kissed mine with such passion and such life just a few hours before still curled in that beautiful, infectious grin.

I looked at George, squeezed his hand and walked away, leaving him and his family to their grief.


End file.
